Strawberry and Chocolate
by lilyme
Summary: On Halloween, the boundaries between life and death blur, or in other words, Faith’s boring night at the Bronze takes an unexpected turn. Spoiler  Dirty Girls. FaithWillow
1. Chapter 1

**Author:** Astarte  
**Translator: **lilyme  
**Title:** Strawberry and Chocolate  
**Rating: **mild NC-17 (only applies for part II)  
**Part:** 1/2  
**Spoiler:** BtVS 7x18 Dirty Girls; and yet again it's Halloween in Sunnydale. The First Evil is in a holding pattern and Caleb takes his time getting to Hellmouth-central.  
**Summary: **On Halloween, the boundaries between life and death blur, or in other words, Faith's boring night at the Bronze takes an unexpected turn.  
**Main Characters/Pairings:** Faith/Willow, Tara/Willow, Friendship Buffy/Faith  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters; they belong to Joss and Mutant Enemy. Neither do I own this story, I just translated it with the permission of the author Astarte.'Angel' belongs to Sarah McLachlan, of course.  
**Note: **As I said, I just translated it. I thought it's a very good story, and since there are way too few Faith/Willow-centric stories out there, I decided to enrichen the English-speaking fanfic-world with just another Fillow-fic ;) I think the translation should be pretty understandable now. If not, blame it on my British, American and Australian betas (I had I check thrice) :P

* * *

******Strawberry and Chocolate**

_Spend all your time waiting  
For that second chance  
For a break that would make it okay_

'You're gonna like her, she's just like you, Faith'. The words uttered by Willow on the drive back to Sunnydale are still ringing in her ears and Faith shakes her head. She doesn't like Kennedy and she is not like her. Not in the least. They are so very different from one another as two people can possibly be, and that's okay. Nobody expects her to lead meaningful conversations with Red's new thang while she lets the second-classiness of the Bronze appeal to her.

And Faith doesn't like the changes here either. Too smooth and bright. She used to like the Bronze because of its shady corners and abstruse hallways, the black walls and the cozy seating units in the corner that practically invited you to long hours of smooching-sessions with your newest conquest. Before she took them with her to her motel room and it all ended far too early.

She despises this new fancy-schmancy dive that used to be the Bronze, a poor imitation of that club in LA. The chrome is burning her eyes and leather beneath her clings to her naked thighs. At least the barkeep had been willing to give out alcohol to minors or had been smart enough to not ask her for her ID, which was still in possession of the state, anyway. Because she was ready enough to kill to get her hands on something high percentage-y tonight. Is this really the thing that she had bailed out of jail for? For being here?

Faith needed a drink. Right now.

She gestures impatiently at the barkeeper and he complies. Oh, yeah, she's trouble. Thanks for nothing. And she wants to be alone, study those changes undisturbed that are so serious that she asks herself at times, if she had accidentally stranded in an alternate universe. God, she wants to get over with this apocalypse thing and then get the hell out of this sleepy hamlet. New York or Boston, a little trip to the good old home country, at the moment it sounds more intriguing than the next slay.

She doesn't want to sit here, on Halloween in the daylight-bright Bronze, and get her ears twisted by the charts-junk that blares out of the crappy sound machine, and her eyes ruined by a tragically pissed-off Buffy, and the plastic pumpkins and the reapers on the walls. The decór is disgusting and uninspired and in general it's way too bright in here. But she had noticed that already.

_We'll both die early enough, no need to drown in self-pity, Blondie. _Their glasses clank and Buffy looks up in surprise, just to take a tentative sip of her Bacardi-coke soon after. Hard to believe that she legally had gotten alcohol here, because Faith feels so much older than the woman next to her.

She just nips a little on her Whiskey-Mix and then orders a beer, stays quiet through the whole process. Faith bites down her advice for the blonde slayer to simply let herself get laid by her blonde vampire, without remorse, instead of hanging around here and pull a face. Screw all those bleak thoughts out of her brain; she would even give her the advantage concerning Spike, not that Buffy is good at sharing, anyway, she never was. But Buffy once again would see this as a personal attack, so Faith simply shuts her blabber and lets her attention drift further.

Back to the dance floor with Red and her new thang.

"Kennedy is so different from Tara." Buffy's voice sounds pensive and Faith nods. That's so very true. She vaguely remembers far too crassly dyed, blonde hair and not very flattering clothes, a shy glance from underneath lowered eyelashes and a stutter so insecure that it automatically made you want to protect the source of it. Or destroy. Back then she had left it at some well-aimed snarks.

Red wanted to end the world after her death, and Faith understands this.

Her eyes focus on the redhead and she thinks about LA and about Fred, about the fact that Willow had to remind herself, more than anyone else, that she actually had someone in her life. She still doesn't like Kennedy, but she is good for Willow and you really can't expect more from a substitute that doesn't reach the original by far. Just as Spike would be good for Buffy – if she allowed herself to simply let go for a change.

Instead the two of them are sitting at the counter, lost in their thoughts. They give the impression of bored women. They nip every pass directed their way in the bud with a sharp glare. The condensation of their drinks moistens their palms, the bass vibrates through their bodies. But nothing really makes their bodies hum, it's not like sex and fighting. Are they really this old? Both of them?

Are they this bitter? Probably. Not that the world had been really good to them.

"D'you think that those two will have a future? You know, stick together if we survive this apocalypse?" Faith ponders Buffy's question, they actually have time to do that; she braces her elbows against the counter and feels the wood pressing into her back.

Finally, "No, I don't think so."

"And us?" Her head whips around and she stares at her counterpart incredulously, but Buffy's look is directed somewhere else; she seems to be far away. She is thinking in larger dimensions. Almost philosophically. Almost too much for her little brain.

"Wanna take your chance, B? Because my advice to you includes you chugging that drink and then you going to look for Spike, so that you don't have to have any regrets in the end."

The green eyes are widened in surprise. She continues trenchantly, "You know, from one slayer to the other? Missed chances are the ones that haunt you, when you look back at your life. The ones that you deflected because you were too proud. There doesn't have to be a convincing reason for everything as long as you feel willing to do it; but you know that as well as I do. You just needed one more confirmation."

She returns Buffy's conspiratorial smirk and this one actually follows her advice for a change, empties her glass and gets up. "At least one us should get properly laid tonight, so get on that and make it a good one. I'll keep an eye on the rest and keep your house empty. And finally get the steel shackles swingin', your vamp digs that."

She shrugs the shocked "Faith!" off with a wicked smile. B was just too easy, one improper comment and she was as keen as mustard in her refusal. Maybe she'd finally ease up a little after her tenth death; despite all the stuff that Spike had said about Buffy's dark side, Faith simply couldn't picture her in a nurse's outfit. Steel shackles, on the other hand? Mmh, pretty mental image, too bad that the charade with Angelus blew up before the fun really had begun.

"Just saying how it is. And now stop blocking my crappy sight, I'll tell the others that you took off." Faith empties her glass and switches to her own beer.

"You're not gonna tell them the truth, are you?"

"We'll see." One wink and then Buffy is gone.

God, she's turning into Mother Theresa, this sucked. She just helped B to hot sex, while she was playing watch dog for a bunch of potentials. Could her life get any less exciting? Fuck. The stage was getting rearranged, which meant live music; now Faith regrets her decision to give B the leave twice.

_There's always one reason  
To feel not good enough_

_And it's hard at the end of the day_

Faith keeps an eye on the SITs, the men at arm's length and the barkeep within reach. The thought that this night isn't as bad as expected keeps her on the edge of her consciousness, because this is still Sunnydale and only a very small part of the demon community is as smart as to actually rest on Halloween. She doesn't want to let down the faith that Buffy has in her and she doesn't want to think too much about why it is as it is, because her story is complicated enough without that. Without any further messing up.

Kennedy, with sweaty face and glowing eyes, comes to a halt beside her. "This music's great! Why aren't you dancing, Faith?"

The open smile is almost enough for her to return it, but instead she remembers her defensive attitude. "Who said that I _could _dance?"

"Come on, you're a slayer, of course you know how to dance. If anyone in this world possesses coordination and tact, then it is definitely a slayer." She doesn't like the hero worshipping, but she likes being challenged even less.

Ironically, "Who said that I _wanted _to dance?"

"Well –," Kennedy stops and Faith raises an eyebrow. "Nobody?"

"Why don't you just go back to your little Thelma? Let me do my job here, okay, Louise?"

And for a moment it looks as if she would comply, but then she puts on this determined expression and Faith sighs inwardly. Right now, she really isn't up for a bitch contest with a potential that had absolutely no idea about life right now. Cordelia on the other hand? She grins as she thinks about LA, about the fun she had there. She misses the cheerleader with the scrunched-up nose and the arrogant attitude, because she knows very well, what this one would think about Kennedy. 'Trash'

And then Faith suddenly understands what she doesn't like about the woman in front of her; Kennedy has money oozing out of every pore of her body and her rebellistic nature is the one of a rich snobby girl that never in her life had _not_ gotten her way. She has no idea how it is to live in a cockroach-infested motel, with crappy TV and too little money to afford proper food. To be dependent on the Scoobies favors and on the bread crumbs that occasionally fell from the rich table of welfare.

Through gritted teeth, "What's your problem, Faith? You're turning into General Buffy, and nobody likes _that."_

The smile is soft, the reprimand mild, "Or maybe it's just you that doesn't like that, sweetie? Because I saw you training with the girls and you're too hot for power yourself to be throwing out stones. Besides, at least B wouldn't miss the goal."

"Are you saying that I'm a bad slayer?"

"I'm saying that you're way too old to follow in my footsteps, and you know, as damn well as I do, that this is the only way to make you the chosen one. So keep your frustration to yourself, because I don't have a death wish and right now I could sweep the floor with you." Her smile is saccharine and Kennedy glares at her angrily, searching for an effective comeback.

Willow suddenly links arms with Kennedy from behind, before the potential can blurt out the reply. The tension between the brunettes is lost on her, "So, are you having fun?"

"Of course, Louise, just fighting out the pecking order here. Oh, no need for the pit stop, Thelma was just about to look for you on the dance floor."

Red's concerned look stays on her but Faith raises her drink in a jovial toast and takes a large swig from the beer. She could practically hear Kennedy gritting her teeth, as Willow dragged her away from her. The look over the shoulder was everything but placid. But Faith has made herself far bigger enemies in the past to fear this minimal threat now.

And as the speaker announces the newest, hottest, coolest band from LA, she has forgotten about the little incident already, but not about her duty which still consists of her keeping the SITs away from the booze; the barkeep keeps sending a look her way before he pours out the stuff and Faith is glad that at least this cooperation works like a charm. The threat to cut his face open with a smashed bottle, and the light left hook when he laughed at her for that comment, had been enough to gain herself the proper respect.

He was still rubbing that spot of his body.

Then she redirects her attention at the band that is playing the first chords and it makes the little hairs on her neck stand on edge, along with the ones on her forearms and all the other parts of her body. This was reeking of black magic or some demonic form of initialization and Faith's look shoots over to Willow who is wearing a similar horrified expression. But they were the only ones who were immune to it, at least it appears like that.

The rest of the Bronze is rushing towards the dance floor. Willow's attempts to shake Kennedy out of her trance are fruitless and Faith whistles to get the witch's attention. This one reacts with a relieved expression, comes running over to her, the face looks even more alarming up close.

"What the hell is going on here, Red? This just feels unnatural, on so many levels."

"No idea, and I know that it's some sort of ritual."

"Oh, really? Already got that part, Einstein." And Faith bites her tongue to stifle further insults; she suppresses her first impulse to shake the witch until the correct answer topples out of her. After talking a deep breath, "What sort of magic?"

Willow's concentration is on the stage, fixing every band member with her eyes. After a few seconds of intense studying, pessimistically, "Powerful and black. Primitive. I'd say they're preparing some sort of sacrificial ritual for a demon god. Allatu, Kali or Holla, if I'm not mistaken, some powerful underworld goddess. Well, it's Halloween – the borders to the nether realm are extremely thin. A veil that could be broken forever with just enough blood, especially on the Hellmouth. And it wouldn't be the first time that the Bronze was the starting point for this. Still sends shivers down my spine when I think about the Master's harvest."

Faith is starting to get itchy, "Are we talking massacre or apocalypse here? Because in case of the latter, it's time to call B. Somehow I just knew that something would happen once I gave her the okay to scamper off and have sex."

"Mmh, apocalyptic repercussions and...WHAT?" the moss-green eyes are comically distorted.

"Oh, don't be like that, Will. If you get yourself an insufficient replacement, you can at least allow Buffy her sex. Or are you egoistic enough to not grant your friend a multiple orgasm?"

The complexion equals her hair color now and she gasps for air several times. At last, the stuttered protest, "Kennedy is not a replacement."

"I never said that, Tara was special, even I could see that. Nobody can replace her." Faith slugs down the automatic condolences that always come with a statement like this and tries to sound out the situation again.

The people on the dance floor have transformed into a flock of convulsing bodies, the

music equals electrifying music of the spheres. Hypnotizing and captivating. A primitive ritual and the band escalates, accelerates and the intensity spreads to the audience, slurs the boundaries between the individuals until you can only make out a tightly compressed bulk.

_I need some distraction  
Oh beautiful release  
Memory seeps from my veins_

"Thanks." Her look glides surprised to Willow whose eyes are brimming with tears and Faith swallows hard. She doesn't know how to react in this sort of situation. Heart-to-heart stuff just isn't her thing.

"You're welcome. And to get your focus back on the situation, I held a knife to your throat and I liked it." Willow nods and, surprisingly, smiles at her softly. "Can I take the band out, what do you think?"

The redhead stares at the stage with a frown, "With a little help of me, sure. I mean, I took on a goddess and only lost by a hair's breath, and these are only high priests."

"And the beast and Angelus brought me back to shape, so let's get it over with."

And with this she approaches the stage purposefully, Red as watchful shadow following on her heels, the air crackles of magic and necromancy. Figures appear out of nowhere and disappear as quickly as they show up, the club suddenly seems five times more populated. And, most of all, dark. Didn't she complain about the brightness of the whole thing earlier? Now she can barely see the hand in front of her face.

"What's going on here?"

"They are lifting the veil between the realities. Letting the deceased trespass and materialize here. The gateways for ghosts of all kind open on Halloween, as well for those that have found their peace already. They can visit their loved ones - " The professional voice behind her falters in mid explanation and breaks at the question, "Tara?"

Faith whirls around. The ash blond witch is standing in front of her in her blue shirt and tight jeans. And it breaks her heart when she sees the sad faces of the other two. The soft smile and the love that shines through every fiber of Tara's being and gets reflected by Willow.

So sweet and perfect that Faith has to fight the lump in her throat, as the two fall into each other's arms, Willow's crying becomes louder, while Tara's hands gently caress the red hair. Her sea-blue eyes pin Faith down with a mysterious look before refocusing on her lover.

Tara's hands enclose Red's face and the silent communication lasts an eternity and is still just a little moment in this nether realm. A reunion and a farewell, and a real one this time. Willow's sobs ebb away and suddenly she emanates the same calmness that engulfs Tara. And Faith feels like an intruder, still more like a voyeur of a moment that is so much more intimate, like a shared climax, and still she can't look away.

Can't close her eyes to the warmth and closeness that those two are radiating.

The kiss is so devout, so bittersweet, so full of lost promises that tears are welling up in her eyes. Another eternity passes and then the lips part in a synchronized movement. One last glance and their soulful conversation is over.

A composed Willow turns towards her, "Tara will support us from the ghosts' realm of this reality and we will focus our energies on you, you will be guided by us. Can you handle that, Faith?"

Give up control? Her look goes to Tara and the shy smile that she has gotten to know made room for a sanguine one. Could she let the other two use her as a tool? "I think so."

The incantations don't take long, the two of them are a good team and the black magic that oppresses the room dissolves for Faith as she gets taken by the hands by the other two and hears the last outlandish words swirl through her brain.

The circle closes with blinding sparks.

The Bronze empties in front of her eyes and allows her an undisturbed view at the band. Confidently she advances the three demons that have built appeared on the stage, and without their human veil they simply appear grey with glistening, blood red eyes and glamorous black robes. Faith knows that this fight is taking place on unusual terrain.

She is in the role of the observer while the energy of the witches is pumping through her veins, and she experiences things she has never felt before. Auras that glow in every color imaginable and still fit into the picture, as if the ghosts are not really gone, but still don't overlap with her sight.

A kaleidoscope of colors and emotions. Yet it's transparent.

Clarity and the black magic that is evaporating from the stage, and she uses it. The words on her tongue are unfamiliar and well-known at the same time. The challenge is accepted and the trio takes on its enemy.

Circles her, tries to spellbind her and bring her to her knees. But her energies continue to grow due to the demon priests' attempts to rob her of them. They are as one. The first slayer's powers untamable, intensified by white magic and made translucent. No darkness, only light and knowledge. She is a focal point that pulverizes its enemies and the victory is chocolate, dark and bitter and sweet.

And then the world is back in her focus. She is only the Dark Slayer.

The loss is unexpected. No ruins, only on her inside.

Now she knows how it feels like when a bullet shoots through your heart and that it hurts less than a knife in your stomach but at the same time can affect you so much more. That the rage about losing your only love in such a pointless way is enough to want to make the world pay. And that an 'I love you!' can be enough to break through the wall of hatred and coldness and to give in to the pain.

Faith gasps and turns to face the dance floor crowd full of bewildered faces and rigid bodies. Sunnydale has its own ways of dealing with the uncanny; the sound system gets turned back on and the charts music plays again. And she jumps off the stage and pushes people out of her way, people that are standing between her and the exit.

She needs to be alone. She needs to get out of here.

And she's out of the Bronze without any second thought about the SITs or other potential dangers.

Faith had never been good at playing watch dog.

_Let me be empty  
And weightless and maybe  
I'll find some peace tonight_

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if the font and formating looks sucky, then it's not my fault. Blame it on ffnet ;) 

Next part will follow soon

I would love some feedback :) If you want to give the author Astarte some feedback as well, you can do that in the review section too (I'm sure she'd love it)


	2. Chapter 2

**Author:** Astarte  
**Translator:**lilyme  
**Title:** Strawberry and Chocolate  
**Rating:**mild NC-17  
**Part:** 2/2  
**Spoiler:** BtVS 7x18 Dirty Girls; and yet again it's Halloween in Sunnydale. The First Evil is in a holding pattern and Caleb takes his time getting to Hellmouth-central.  
**Summary:**On Halloween, the boundaries between life and death blur, or in other words, Faith's boring night at the Bronze takes an unexpected turn.  
**Main Characters/Pairings:** Faith/Willow, Tara/Willow, Friendship Buffy/Faith  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters; they belong to Joss and Mutant Enemy. Neither do I own this story, I just translated it with the permission of the author Astarte.'Angel' belongs to Sarah McLachlan, of course.  
**Note:**As I said, I just translated it. I thought it's a very good story, and since there are way too few Faith/Willow-centric stories out there, I decided to enrichen the English-speaking fanfic-world with just another Fillow-fic ;) I think the translation should be pretty understandable now. If not, blame it on my British, American and Australian betas (I had I check thrice) :P  
**Feedback:**If you want to give me feedback for the translation, please do. I'd really love that ;) If you want to give feedback to the author of the story (Astarte), then use the mail address I gave you above; she'd be happy to hear from you.  
**Another note**, since it came up in the reviews and I forgot to mention it: The story is originally in German ;)

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_In the arms of an angel  
Fly away from here  
From this dark cold hotel room  
And the endlessness that you fear_

Faith is standing in her old motel room, the walk had been a blurred mist and she doesn't really know what had led her here. The dark room doesn't hold good memories for her, only memories of isolation and of the feeling that she isn't good enough. That she is not welcome. An outsider that can't handle her role and therefore lashes out.

The past years made her grow up; she has come to like her hard and rough edges and rounded them down to the outside observer. She doesn't have to put other people's noses out of joint anymore, only to feel noticed by them. She doesn't have to box ears anymore, just to make herself heard. Doesn't have to hold knives to people's throats, simply to get them to shut up.

She thinks her moods through, before she gives in to them.

She is not one of those whiny girls, never had been.

But the desire to simply throw herself on the dirty sheets and weep freely is raging for dominance inside her body and she tries to fight it. Fight for her composure; and she isn't a spiritual medium, the ‚Ghost – Message from Tara'-crap isn't her fricking thing either.

And she is torn between the desire to scream and the desire to curl up into a little ball and wait until those unfamiliar emotions finally leave her. Leave her and her hard-earned peace alone. Maybe it would be convenient to look up an exorcist, if she found one around here.

That is not why she was in Sunnydale, to be involved in a war with herself and yes, it was nightmarish to find this town so quiet. Streets deserted, houses abandoned and maybe, for the first time in this town's history, the inhabitants were on the run.

Surprisingly enough, the demons as well. Now she understands why Willow had asked her to come here. Insisted so staunchly on her presence. The end is near, she can feel it in her bones.

An indefinable feeling of danger and death.

It is Halloween and the streets are devoid of life, no ‚Trick or Treat' from children or

teens that are strolling around. Nobody put any efforts into elaborate or creepy costumes, because the dread is actually in the air. Equaling a calamitous mist that permeates everything. It's those little things that Faith is only beginning to notice. That compose and make the threat more real.

And slowly she sits down on the bed, the bedsprings still creak as they used to. The motel is as empty as the streets that she has passed, the manager is on the retreat together with the rest of the good little sheep. On their quest for redemption and escape of the impending catastrophe, and Faith feels jaded.

Not sure if she'll stay for the right reasons.

The door opens soundlessly and Willow sneaks inside, like a ghost, and Faith grins at the thought, looks at her. Red is nervous and at the same time as calm as she had been before. A strange combination. Finally, calm, "How did you find me?"

She gives her a little, mysterious smile, "We're still connected through the spell. Even if the connection is weaker now, it's still there. I just had to concentrate and voilà, here I am."

The echo doesn't just resound inside of her, in her counterpart as well and Faith asks herself, how it feels like to be able to make peace and say goodbye. If it makes it easier or even sadder.

Strangely enough, their silence feels comfortable, minutes tick away before Faith breaks it carefully, "This quietness is creepy; even in LA the streets were demon-infested that time with the never-ending night. The rats are leaving the sinking ship and that oughta scare us."

"We all know how it'll turn out." No stutter, no babble, and equally as little dejectedness.

"Do we?" Faith looks at Willow attentively.

"Yep, we fight the evil, just like we always do." The courage is not superimposed, it's real and this surprises her nonetheless. The little wallflower has stepped out of the slayer's shadow and has grown up to be a self-assured, livewire wicca. Whenthe chips are down

"And we learn to live with those losses that are inevitable?" She doesn't know why she feels this dejectedness inside of her, blames it on the lingering presence of Tara and Willow in her and the scene that unfolded in front of her eyes.

The one that is still playing inside her head.

"She has finally found her peace and so did." Willow pushes herself off of the door, approaches her and comes to a halt in front of her. "That's what makes it easier, even if it will never stop hurting, she has her place in my heart, and now in yours too."

She looks up surprised. "The transmigration of souls always leaves traces behind, Faith. It is easier, if you don't fight it, if you accept it instead and learn to see the positive sides of it."

"That sounds pretty New-Age-y, maybe too soft boiled to be true, Red. You don't simply forget metal that has drilled its way through your heart." She emphasizes her point with a dismissive snap of her fingers.

And Willow hesitantly leans down to her, gently embraces her chin with her fingers, lifts her face and repeats the gesture that connected her to Tara in a modified way "Then remember."

The lips are on hers, soft and with the taste of ripe strawberries.

Sweet and luscious, enticing and Faith lets herself fall into the kiss, with a desperation that isn't as unfamiliar to her as she wants it to be. Tenderness is something that she had always been afraid of, and she tries to dig deeper. Find the truth underneath. And she knows that the love in it isn't meant for her, but for the part of Tara that is lingering inside of her, but it feels right nonetheless. She still absorbs it, like a desert that had been dried out and had lain idle long enough; a desert whose earth yearns for moisture.

The heat radiates from her and Willow's mouth cools hers, analizes lust into need and demand into desire. Opens under her onrush and her tongue springs into wet darkness and velvety warmth. Explores it and her conquest gets beaten back gently, parried and used against her, until her breath comes out jerkingly and her body is shaking.

On her quest for support, for security, her hands come to rest on Willow's soft cheeks. Faith sinks back on the bed and Willow follows her without coercion. The weight rests on her briefly before her hands find the bare thighs, caress and rub them. Explore the hem of the skirt, lift it up and disappear under it. The kiss still continues and it gets harder to separate the emotions from one another. It doesn't seem important, which belong to her and which to Tara, as long as they keep getting stronger.

The fingers trace the contours of her panties. Tender and infatuating.

Strawberry limes. The tipsiness is there unannounced and Faith feels intoxicated.

_You are pulled from the wreckage  
Of your silent reverie  
You're in the arms of the angel  
May you find some comfort there_

Faith is pretty sure that Willow is using magic; she doesn't know when the redhead had gotten rid of her clothes and she is extremely certain that the witch hadn't stopped kissing her and had been way too busy to do exactly that to actually take care of the clothes too. But she is too captivated in her sensations to really object to this unfair treatment.

A beautiful, naked woman on top of her isn't really what she has to fight with hands and feet. As long as things keep getting simpler, her feelings more familiar. Lust, arousal and expectations are growing inside of her. Along with something unfamiliar.

Her moans are suppressed, but, damn, this feels good.

Just like the lips that are gliding over her throat and the hand that fiddles around with her buttons. Suddenly there is the urgency, Faith yanks on her blouse and Willow on her skirt. Then she is equally naked and the dirty sheets stir up dust as she changes their position and lays on Willow. Their thighs are intertwined tightly, just like the rest of their bodies.

It is not close enough, but too close at the same time – since she wants to know how her breasts taste, and her navel and her hip bone and the woman herself. The movements of her hands are erratic and a little rough, but Willow's soft growling is spur and argument enough to give into the haste and passion.

Faith drags a wet trails across her upper body, wants to explore everything, lick it, caress it, feel it. And her hands are kneading the soft mounds and her tongue slides over the hard nipples. As flighty as a butterfly, because she still can't decide what she wants to taste first. Which spots she wants to caress and which she simply wants to devour.

Willow's hands are kneading her butt, drawing her closer, while Faith simply wants to sink into her. The flighty movements gone, she nips, sucks and nibbles until Willow's grasp eases and allows her to glide lower, over her stomach, circle the navel. She feels the hands on her back grip tighter again.

The first finger finds the wetness. And the second. Teasing and luring.

Fingernails rake over her skin and Faith groans, when they dig even deeper into her as she wanders lower. Willow's legs are parting further in anticipation. Her name urging from her lips and Faith lets her tongue circle the bundle of nerves and makes Willow's hips tremble. Briefly she loses her hold, grips the hip bone to stabilize herself and her counterpart again.

The taste is sweeter than she remembers it, and again the comparison to strawberry limes comes to mind, strawberry limes with a hint of lemon, and she wonders if she

could drink herself into delirium on this and if Willow would let her. She delves deeper into her senses and her cognition.

Likes what she finds on her treasure hunt.

The whimper, as she lets the tip of her tongue glide over the pearl. The undefined sound, when she circles it leisurely and moves her fingers in a faster rhythm. The suppressed hiss, when she moves away from the most erogenous spot and devotes her attention to the rest. But she likes the low groaning much better. And thus she stops the exploration of the folds and again concentrates on the spot that turns Willow's breathing into panting and makes her thrust her hips against her jerkingly.

The bed springs squeaking loudly a protesting rhythm.

Faith lets herself be carried away by the vibrations that rumble through the body beneath her, and it is still her name that is coming from Willow's lips, sounding like a religious exclamation and Faith has mercy, lets her come.

Lets her falls and drowns the following word with a hard kiss.

She doesn't even know herself how she has minimized the distance this quickly, could give up her comfy position this easily. Maybe it is the slayer inside of her. Or her

hunting instinct. Or her self-protection. But she needs to regain her inner peace tonight.

She doesn't want to hear a single word that she can't ever again erase from her memory.

This moment belongs to her; even if she probably doesn't hold the emotions, _this_ name has no use here. Transmigration can reflect an impression, but not the person itself. Not the lover. Not in flesh and blood and a calm, wise spirit. Because Faith still doesn't know if she would make Willow pay, if she heard her scream something else than her own name tonight.

And her fingers travel calmingly through the velvety hair as she tastes the sweat on Willow's lips and the sweet satisfaction, feels the light shiver and the heat of the body beneath her. The softness. She had actually thought that this had been only an emergency solution for her time in prison, but this here feels more intimate.

The hands on her shoulder that are somewhere between tranquil and possessive.

The tongue that explores her mouth lazily.

And suddenly she is beneath Willow and this one grins a sensuous smile with glowing cheeks. Without difficulty her fingers find the spot that makes adrenaline shoot through Faith's body, alongside endorphins and an un-lady-like "Fuck!"

"Not yet, but soon."

Willow's smile shows a little more than just a hint of mischief and Faith tries to comprehend if the redhead is really trying some kind of Dirty Talk with her or is simply in an anodyne mood after her orgasm. It is hard to hold onto that thought as the fingers execute this rough back and forth that makes her and her hips go nuts.

"How soon?" She really didn't want to ask that through gritted teeth, but there the question is, out in the open and Willow braces her head against her hand nonchalantly and grins at her. "If you're thinking about asking me if I've been a good girl, then I can tell you right now – it's not Christmas, it's Halloween, Red."

That was more like her and Faith grins contently until Willow lowers her head and encloses her dark areola briefly, firmly with her teeth, not really a bite, but the shock that shoots through her body is electrifying. Before Red straightens herself up again and she grits her teeth.

"That wasn't my plan." The content smile has returned stronger, glows above her in the dark motel room and approaches her, just like the rest of Red's body. A thigh rubs her inner thigh idly, hips and fingers draw gentle patterns on her skin. Lips glide over her neck, up to her ear.

"It's Halloween, which means 'Trick or Treat', and you taste like white chocolate." The voice is captivating, demands a tender reply that is momentarily lost on Faith. Because the tongue sashays down her throat, sparks heat; a long drawn-out lick, that reminds her of summer's heat and ice cream. Chocolate was yummy. Right? Strawberries and chocolate were a good combination. One that –

Her halfway though-out reply dies under a sharp intake of breath, because Red has picked up a different, a faster rhythm and the sucking on her breast is directly connected to it. Her muscles feel like ice in the sunshine.

Almost fluid. Flowing. Like instinctive movements.

And then the lips leave her breast and Faith squirms anxiously due to the distinct slowness. Feels Willow on her navel and soon after on her pubic bone and her fingers slide deeply into her, make room for her eager tongue and Faith's hands clutch the hair, want something to hold on to, something that anchors her here, while she swings out to that place on the abyss.

So close to falling as she dangles, swings in unison with the tongue and the fingers.

The even pressure. Until Willow intensifies it just a little bit more to send her flying. For a long time, and she still thinks that this is pure magic, because stars and sunups are reflected on the ceiling, are blinding her. And she doesn't know if the thought is coming from Tara, because she screams Red's name with a conviction and certainty that she actually shouldn't possess.

_  
So tired of the straight line  
And everywhere you turn  
There's vultures and thieves at your back_

Faith isn't sure when she had fallen asleep; an act that for most people is normal after-really-good-sex behavior, but it is alien to her and almost enough to drive her out of bed with one single leap, when she is finally fully awake. Sometime between her post-orgasm-bliss and Red's even caresses on her thigh she had nodded off, and unlike her, Willow didn't give up her comfortable position. Is resting her head on her thigh, with her hand on her breast. The hair shines reddish and she begins to untangle it, and to think.

She feels that this is the reason why she had come here. To think.

She had made some very important decisions in this room. Some had been good, some less good and she doesn't know, if she is going to regret the decision that is beginning to loom within her. But it is the right one and she has sworn to herself that she wouldn't allow herself another slip. Wouldn't chase after unrealizeabledreams and chafe on the attempt to make those come true, destroy herself. Only to let herself be consumed by her own bitterness and rage in the process.

Faith has sworn off the hatred and coldness, but not her self-protection.

Willow is not the kind of woman that can hold her, and what had happened in this room is of no importance. Mystical confusion, emotions gone haywire and the end of the world. Yet again. Faith is not that naive to excuse the happenings with a sexual act of necessity because this night is way too clear in her memory. She isn't interested in various, thrown-out hit-ons. This, right here, is something special. But nothing that she should repeat. Can repeat.

For her own sake, and for Willow's. They aren't sweet. Neither of them.

They are dark and blood red in their rage. Out of control.

She still doesn't like Kennedy, but Willow had made the right decision, had chosen the right replacement, the benign one and Faith understands this. Thinks that she maybe understands too much and that she doesn't like that part of Tara. Not permanently, because silent resignation has never resembled her being and can never be unisono with the slayer's nature.

Because she stands up against a lot of principles in her life, and she doesn't even have that many.

But she doesn't want to lose the few that she has newly acquired.

"Do you think that she made love to you?"

The voice is soft and Tara emerges out of the darkest corner of the room, steps into the

diffuse shimmer of the street lamp. She still radiates warmth and closeness. Delicacy, but Faith isn't as blind and self-involved as to classify this as flimsy fragility.

But that this question had come from her of all people is funny and Faith grins at her.

"No, I think she made love with that part of you that she could reach."

And the figure approaches them, comes to a stop at the level of Willow's head, the look at her lover contains unforeseen longing and Faith understands that Tara's acceptance of her own destiny doesn't change the fact that it is equally as painful for her as it is for Red.

Tara sits down but the growl of the bed doesn't come, because they have brought up the boundaries again. She studies the face of her lover with an intensity that is torturous and consuming. It dawns on Faith that this is their unvarnished farewell for a very long time and automatically she stops her caressings of the red hair.

Tara sounds absent when she finally breaks the silence. "It doesn't look good for you two."

"There is no ‚Us two'!" And Tara pins her down with a look that awakens in her the desire to squirm. "You know what she did after your death and if I had been there, I would've rooted for her with bobbles and cheerleading outfit, if necessary, just to make her go through with her vengeance campaign."

"You would have stopped her after Warren, Faith, you wouldn't have let her isolate herself and get lost in her bloodlust. Because now you understand the difference between vengeance and evil. Just like you had understood it for a very long time at that point. And I think that she would have listened to you, because you wouldn't have made her focus on a guilty conscience or presented her with her failure. She would have known who to turn to, without any second thought. A person that helps her to go through with this and provide the proper excuses right after.

And Faith is silent, because she doesn't know if she can agree to this statement or not. Because, in contrast to Tara, she doesn't know Willow well enough.

___And the storm keeps on twisting  
You keep on building the lie  
That you make up for all that you lack  
_

Finally, calmly, from Tara, "You want to give this here up, why? Isn't it the missed chances that haunt you, the chances that you reject out of pride and fear of messing up?

Her eyes narrow, "How long, exactly, have you been at the Bronze tonight?"

Tara smiles mischievously, "Does it matter?"

"Maybe. But maybe not. But it's in any case impolite to listen in on other people's conversations, for ghosts as well. At least it should be."

"No matter how insightful those are? I don't think so."

After that Faith shrugs, "Look, Tara, this was just sex, nothing more to it. And we're both old enough to accept it as just this and go on with our lives. Without complications or difficulties."

"You're about to face an apocalypse and are afraid of a commitment? I find that very interesting." The look alters between curiosity and empathy. "You think that you have thwarted the first evil's plans today in a way tonight that will have consequences. For all of you?"

"That's why I think my approach to this is even smarter."

"I'd call it cowardice." Faith is tempted to find out, if you really aren't able to hurt ghosts physically, but, with effort, she brings her emotions under control. „You blame the resignation in you on me, but it has nothing to do with my knowledge. I have never been afraid of love, even if I have been afraid of rejection, Faith."

Bitchy, "Isn't it inappropriate to play matchmaker for your girlfriend, Tara?"

This one lets out a soft laugh, "No, it would be inappropriate, if I were still among the living, but given this situation, it is just fair. You both are too hurt, too proud and too stubborn to come to the obvious conclusion. To see it."

Faith is silent and Tara, again, lets her eyes sink to the sleeping Willow and she hadn't even noticed it, but she had started to twist the hair between her fingers again. And now she wonders why she doesn't have the urge to cut out the gesture this time.

"It wasn't all puppies and roses before I died. Did you know that we had been separated for about three months before the bullet hit me? Because of the magic that she couldn't live without? She manipulated me, made me forget our arguments and forced her will on me. Of course, I had loved her still. A wise man once said; 'The heart has reasons that rationality doesn't know about.' And it is not always wise to love her, but it is too bitter, too sweet, to resist it for long."

"Do thought-reading, the ultimate anthology of quotations and wisdom belong to the advantages of afterlife? Plus, a matchmaker should praise the advantages of a person, and not point out the flaws." The sarcasm is weak, even to her own ears and Tara's smirk is charitable. Why could she smile this much, with her life being over and her honey being left here on earth?

She answers the unasked question, „To even give it a shot, you have to know that she isn't flawless in a relationship. I want Willow to be happy again. I know that you deserve to be happy, as well. And I think that you two could be happy together, that's all I need to know."

The silence sinks onto the room again and it lasts until the sky turns gray. Both of them watch over Willow's peaceful sleep in a strange agreement. And maybe she has agreed to a pact with Tara in the time that passes until this one gets up and presses her lips gently to Willow's forehead.

Then approaches her and repeats the gesture. Little more than a breath of air.

"I would have loved to get to know you better in my life, Faith." She nods, she feels the same, and that Tara's last words had been directed at her somehow makes it easier.

Conciliates her with the outsider inside of her. "Goodbye."

And then she is alone with Willow. Tara's ghost is gone.

Maybe for the first time in this slowly ending night.

Willow awakens shortly after Tara's departure and Faith watches the redhead attentively, waits for the shock. The horror of finding her in her bed. But all she gets is a sleepy smile while Willow changes her position, and, as if it goes without saying, crawls into her arms and pulls the dirty blanket over them both. She hears a mumbled "One more hour, 'kay?"

She nods and embraces her tighter.

Sometime in the last hours she had lost the feeling in her leg and now it returns

tingling, along with the blood circulation and Faith cusses inwardly, shakes her leg half-heartedly. She hears a chuckle against her chest and wonders when people had lost the respect for her and had begun to make her into a constant item of their weird sense of humor. And why it doesn't bother her when these people are Tara or Willow.

Mockingly, "If your brain weren't that ginormous, I wouldn't have that problem right now, Red."

"But a shrinkhead is less attractive, not to mention less entertaining."

Understanding, "Well, that's true."

She wonders when her fascination with Willow's hair will eventually let up. Why she has to touch it. Letting the soft strands glide through her fingers, just to remind herself that this is real. Before she understands that Willow deserves more and that Tara possesses too much compassion to see the obvious clearly.

That this one already has someone in her life and that it can't work out.

Her thoughts are caught in the hamster wheel of good intentions, even if this doesn't bring her any closer to the solution. But it can keep her occupied still. It doesn't. After all she isn't known for her intelligence and hopefully Willow is smart enough for both of them to find the right arguments for why this can't work out; at the moment she is too tired for this sort of thoughts.

Because it's still okay to fall asleep next to her.

For only a short moment. Or two. Before the world pulls them back in.

___It don't make no difference  
Escaping one last time  
It's easier to believe in this sweet madness oh  
This glorious sadness that brings me to my knees_

_____Fini – Strawberry and Chocolate  
_


End file.
